Chemistry of a Car Crash
by secretspark89
Summary: Post 10.15, Hereafter; When Ziva gets injured on the job, Tony remembers that sometimes, even ninjas need saving; he quickly comes to realize that he's tired of the 'what ifs' and 'almosts'. Anthony DiNozzo is ready for the here and now. /Re-mastered & containing Season 10 spoilers, to date.
1. i see you

Originally this was posted right after 7.21, Obsession; unfortunately I got a bit overwhelmed with school and work, but now that I'm back, I've re-mastered it, and it's now a Post-Hereafter fic; in canon.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

(tony/ziva) Chemistry of a Car Crash

Chapter 1

* * *

This was his fault; of course it was his fault.

Ziva was hurt, the kind of hurt that even she couldn't pretend wasn't real; the kind of hurt that left her bowed over in pain, feebly pushing Tony's hands away to try and preserve her last shred of decency, flirting with the lines of consciousness in the backseat of an illegally commandeered police car.

And for what?

_It's always his God-damn fault._

* * *

For the better part of a year he'd treated her with cruel indifference, his whole life enraptured by Jeanne and his undercover OP; the one that sucked him in until he couldn't tell the difference between reality and fantasy; the one that had him lying to his friends, his partner, and his mentor. The one that almost got him killed. She'd stuck by him, the summer that Gibbs' decided to have a mental breakdown, providing him with the sense of stability he unknowingly needed, determined to remain his partner in every aspect of the word, whether or not it held true on paper. He knew he'd hurt her when he cancelled their movie nights without as much as a live phone call.

_Voicemail, what an ingenious invention_.

But in his defense, it'd been for the job; and Anthony DiNozzo was nothing if not committed.

And when he'd blown his cover, in turn losing not only a woman he thought he loved, but also the trust of his teammates, somehow he'd found a way to blame her. But maybe that was why he hadn't told her about the assignment in the first place; it wasn't that she couldn't be trusted, but he knew she'd have done everything in her power to keep him from blurring the lines, from getting so far deep into it, he'd inescapably end up hurt.

'_That's because you're a good person,_' she'd once said. Funny, he hadn't felt like a 'good anything' at the time.

When Jenny died, he'd holed up in his apartment, alone. Of course he'd known that she and Jenny had, years ago, built a friendship that far surpassed one of a Director and subsequent agent, but he'd been too busy wallowing in his own bottomless pool of self-pity, one that smelled too much like straight whiskey, to acknowledge her unremitting incoming calls, the Caller ID mocking him with every flash of her name. He'd like to think that if he'd known the true reason behind her persistence, if he'd only known that her father had secured her a seat on an earlier flight, one that would have her coasting over the Pacific by the time he woke the next day, he'd have answered.

Yes, he'd like to think that.

But he didn't know, so he didn't answer.

And she got on a plane, without a proper goodbye, without an apology, back to Tel Aviv, where she was un-tethered, free to find someone else; someone else who would _seemingly _put her first. Someone who would be there for her when the nightclub she canvassed was bombed, sending her to the hospital, hurt and, if the ZNN feed was any indication, terrified. Someone, who would eventually screw her over, throwing her world into yet another agonizing tailspin; and it would be the one that '_broke the camel's back_,' so to speak.

_Although she'd say donkey, or mule, or something equally off kilter._

But not all the blame could be placed on the traitorous, now departed, Michael Rivkin; just as it was unfair for her to endure all the responsibility. Yes, she'd been seduced by a world of false comfort and devotion, been unwilling to believe that those she loved, _that those who were supposed to love her back_, would betray her in such a way; that her own father, the man who had sent her to NCIS almost four years prior, had begun to question her loyalties.

He, her partner, the man who was supposed to have her back at all times, was also partly to blame, not to mention, jealous. Since that morning when she'd sat across from him, hurling Hebraic curses at an unknown flight coordinator in a resolute mission to return to her native country, he'd been consumed by the need to know; to know his name, know the importance he held in her life.

A woman who in three years hadn't taken as much as a sick day, was taking a week off of work to go on vacation. To see someone else, the man who rivaled for her affections.

Yeah, _jealous_ was definitely the right word. And damn if she didn't call him on it.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, perhaps with exception of Eli David himself, he'd been right to question the motives of her newfound lover. Rivkin had used her, playing her like a worn out chess piece, an obvious expendable rook, in the eyes of Mossad.

_Not in his eyes; never had she been expendable to him._

_He'd saved her, and although it may not have been the initial objective of his mission, he'd never been happier to go off-script._

_He'd saved her, and after three long, poignant months, she came home, to the states; to NCIS; to him._

_He'd saved her, and eventually, they were okay._

He called her Probette, and she gave him blue teeth that left a stubborn hue in his mouth for days.

One day, a week or so before the Annual Secret Santa, she came to work wearing a necklace with a new Star of David pendant, and he noticed. And when she caught his gaze on the exposed skin in the scoop neck of her shirt, she smiled. A real, _Ziva David_ smile.

And then there was Paris. Yeah, Paris had the clincher; no crazy, sweaty '_caught up in the moment'_ sex, no horrific nightmares that shook his very core; but there was a quiet little ninja, who in her sleep, settled herself against him, aligning her body along the full length of his own, pulling him into a deep, content slumber, and making his Ohio State T-shirt smell very Apple-y, if that was even a word. And it smelled that way for days after their return, until her scent was completely replaced by the smell of Axe and his aftershave. And only then did he wash it, still reluctantly.

And for months they stayed that way; he'd come in a few minutes earlier, and she'd stay a few minutes later. Every once in a while, he'd offer to walk her to her car, and surprisingly, she'd allow it.

There had been no doubt in his mind that she was a completely different person than the day he'd met her; she still had the big brown eyes, and the long flowing black tresses that begged him to reach out and twist a curl around his finger, but she had definitely softened; granted, three months in a terrorist camp in the African Desert wasn't the way he'd wished it would have happened, but she finally seemed human, tangible.

But actions spoke louder than words, and in true DiNozzo fashion, it wasn't long before his actions screamed_ expendable_, betraying the possibly truest declaration he'd ever made…

"_Couldn't live without you, I guess…"_

_One step forward, and three steps back_…

_More like fifty_.

She hadn't seemed hurt by the mention of Brenda Bitner, the misguided barista who thought she'd snagged herself a committed boyfriend; it was Dana who had struck a nerve.

_Dana Hutton._

And of all the people to give him a tongue lashing, it had to be Abby Sciuto, the forever loving, unbiased Goth forensic scientist; or so he thought. Almost a half hour he'd sat there, listening to her as she screamed, claiming he was an ass of un-measureable proportions, and that apparently, Major Mass Spec hadn't even seen the likes of him. And Major Mass Spec had seen some scummy particulates in its day.

Twenty minutes with an angry Abby, it was like years in his own personal hell, complete with a cute little minion in pig-tails, on the verge of tears as she begged him to '_fix it_.'

Damn. The girl was spending way too much time with Gibbs.

But, Dana Hutton. He'd been fixated with her for days, and he couldn't figure out why. There was just something so alive, so beautiful, _so familiar_ about her…he'd been nothing short of compelled to save her.

He'd assaulted a civilian, broken Rule # 10, and earned a heartbreaking look from Ziva as he spat out her last name like it was something vile; he regretted it the second it had left his lips, but apologizing would admit he'd gone too far, that he'd gotten too attached, again; and he hadn't won yet.

'_Cause the good guys are supposed to win in the end…right_?

But still, Dana Hutton couldn't be saved. He'd failed.

...

Over the next few years the pair would respectively find false hope in quickly burnt out romances, leaving each with yet another failed attempt at happiness.

Tony once thought he'd understood EJ, that was, until he learned of her connections to Sec Nav. And from experience, he knew, if one lie was brought to the surface, there were dozens still uncovered, each one a damning crack ready to dissemble the strongest of relationships.

And then she'd disappeared; she'd left him, in an alley way, shot, seemingly to die.

If he couldn't trust Erica Jane with his life, he damn sure wouldn't trust her with his heart.

And when EJ reemerged months later, in need of one last favor, when the job was done and she was safe, their departure didn't affect him with the intensity he expected. Instead it left him with the feeling she'd been a mere distraction from reality; a way to escape the truth that he'd yet again allowed another man, this time a certain CIA Agent with impressive clearance levels, to make Ziva smile.

The smile that used to be reserved solely for him.

But in the end, Ziva's relationship and almost-engagement to Ray had taken more than it had given. She'd been promised her dream: the husband, the kids, and the house with the white picket fence, but before she'd let herself dive _feet first_ into her perfectly tailored, cookie cut American Dream, Ray had been exposed as the liar he'd become, and yet again she was left alone.

They were alone.

And then suddenly, _they weren't_.

Suddenly, they were sharing secrets. About Tony's mother. About Tali.

_About the things that mattered_.

Tony was the one to fend off Ziva's nightmares after her father's murder.

And Ziva had, in one night, dissolved Tony's sheer panic at the sight of children.

Not to say they no longer carried the pain of their pasts, but it was proving easier to overcome their collective so-called '_dysfunction'_, romantic and otherwise, together.

* * *

_Not again._

_This was not happening, AGAIN!_

_He did not drag her ass out of an African Desert so she could go and get hit by a car_.

"Ziva, let me look at it," he pleaded pathetically. She was squirming, stretched out over his lap, pushing his hands away as he reached for the hem of her shirt. He'd wasted no time in stripping her of her official NCIS jacket and Kevlar vest, and she was choosing _now _to fight with him. Not surprisingly, even a run-down Ziva threatened to beat Tony in a battle of brawn.

_But she was bleeding from somewhere…_

"We're almost there, Tony. Maybe you should just wait, you know, let the doctors-"

"Just shut up and drive, McGee!"

And drive he did; going ninety miles an hour, on anything other than highway, was dangerous in itself, but the prickling sensations in the corners of his eyes made Tim blink incessantly, and his driving all the worse. He was giving Ziva's legacy as _world's worst driver_ a run for its money. He laid in on the horn, shouting a string of expletives out the window at fellow drivers, quickly discovering how moot the sound of a police car siren had become.

"Damn it," Tony muttered. She'd stopped fighting, and as much as he needed to help her, she needed to stay awake.

Tony'd been in a foul mood all morning, having missed a mysterious phone call from Senior in the dead of night, and the realization that he was most likely in need of a clemency in the form of money, had thrown Tony's whole routine off. He'd taken too long in the shower, letting the hot spray work out the kinks in his shoulders as he thought about his expendable funds, and just how much he would be able to give Senior. He'd spilled his coffee on his dress shirt, not to mention the upholstery of his car, and consequently, he'd arrived seven minutes late to the bull pen; whilst no one else seemed to notice, it was enough to ruin Tony's day before it'd even begun.

Naturally, within mere minutes of his arrival, Tony felt Ziva's gaze; he tried focusing on the methodical sounds of McGee's typing, wondering what he was working on so proficiently when they hadn't been given a case, but her silent questions kept hitting him square in the face, and she was hard to ignore; so when Gibbs had descended from MTAC, sputtering out the details of their new case, he dodged her every advance between the Navy Yard and the crime scene, decidedly waiting until they could be alone before he would recruit her help in making sense of the cryptic message left on his voicemail.

The last thing he wanted was some crack from McGee about, _well about anything_.

_There were some things only Ziva could fix._

But looking back over their interactions, or lack thereof, Tony could see how Ziva would've been put off. He'd pushed her so far after Eli's death, _to open up to him, to confide in him_; and while he had every intention to reciprocate, his ill-tempered disposition this morning could have easily been mistaken for an unwillingness to confide in her, when he'd done nothing short of beg her, just weeks ago, to trust him.

"_Don't do this."_

Because she wasn't alone.

_Jesus. Now look where they were._

But he never should have let her go out there alone; what the hell were partners good for anyways?

Now all McGee had to do was grow a pair and step on the pedal; "Ziva?" he whined, fingertips forgetting their search, now fluttered over her face. Bruises had already started to flourish on her cheeks, around her eyes… "Jesus Christ, McGee, would you just drive the damn car?"


	2. it's been a while

(tony/ziva) Chemistry of a Car Crash

Chapter 2

* * *

"Where the hell did you bring us?"

"Keep it down Tony; we aren't the only ones here." Tim looked up from the brochure in his hands, giving the family that sat across from him in the waiting area an apologetic look. "And it was ten times closer than Bethesda."

Tony did a 360 spin to assess his surroundings; the building looked new, modern, with clean steel fixtures and freshly painted light blue walls. The glass pane doors were spotless, the hurried doctors and nurses used mini laptops rather than disheveled clipboards, and the magazines were of all genres and up-to-date, which was more than he could say for Bethesda. And it didn't smell like a hospital; it smelled clean, but the air didn't have that clingy_, Purell_-_like_, lemon scent that made his head hurt.

_Too bad the doctors were a bunch of inconsiderate pricks_.

"He had no right to talk to me like that," he bit out.

McGee huffed impatiently. He could see the dark red stains embedded beneath Tony's cuticles; it didn't matter that he'd spent the better part of a half hour scrubbing his hands, _some things need more than just soap and water_. His wet shirt sleeves were rolled up to just beneath the elbow and he was still clutching Ziva's NCIS jacket, when his own was inexplicably missing; McGee's voice took on a soft tone, "You carried an unconscious, bleeding woman into his ER, and when he asked you what her injuries were, you said '_she was hit_.' What exactly was he supposed to say?"

"Preferably something helpful."

"To be fair, he was…"

If it were true that looks could kill, Tony's glare was damn near close. Hard eyes, set jaw, and a defensive stance that could put Gibbs on edge, he stood there, daring McGee to continue; so Tim chose his words carefully, "He just said it would've been better if we'd waited for an ambulance. They could've called ahead, or at least had a list of her allergies, or _something_."

_Or treated her_, he added mentally.

"She doesn't have any allergies."

"You sure about that?" he snapped. The more Tim rationalized the doctor's verbal slap-on-the-wrist, the more irritated he became. He'd all but begged Tony to wait for the EMTs, and the Senior Agent's sudden vow of silence told him that _no, he wasn't sure_.

"God forbid he has to do his job," he grumbled, sinking low into a plush chair a few feet away from McGee. "Place looks expensive enough."

If there was one thing Tim had learned over the past few years, it was that an absentee Ziva made for a very grumpy Tony. He knew better than to take it personally, but having a working knowledge of the psyche of one Anthony DiNozzo and not letting it get under your skin, were two completely different things. His best chance at sanity was to not dwell on the doctor who had unluckily incurred his wrath. "Look," he said, throwing Tony a copy of the brochure in his hand. "Nothing against the naval hospital, but if I get shot in the field, I want you to bring me here." Tony appeared uninterested leaving it to lay idly in his lap, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in quiet frustration; but McGee sensed he was listening, processing the words carefully, so he pressed on: "It's a private hospital, part of an extensive network in England called…_er_," he turned the same page back and forth, _back and forth_, resolute that the segment he was looking for was on page four, _or was it five_… "_Spire Healthcare_. They've got over thirty award winning hospitals. And well known for their work with trauma patients." He looked up, "Tony?"

"I want her transferred to Bethesda," he said firmly.

"You got a good reason for that, DiNozzo?"

Tony's head shot up, startled; but like McGee, he remained seated. He opened his mouth to answer, but judging by the look on Gibbs face, he was in no mood for petty complaints like '_the doctor yelled at me'_, so instead, he gave a slight head shake, '_no_'.

"Good, because she's not going anywhere." His tone left no room for argument. "What do we know?"

"This one's on me, boss."

"That's _not _what I asked." He turned away from Tony, unwilling to recognize his agent's misplaced self-deprecation, "McGee?"

"Nothing, yet." A feeble answer, and not at all what Gibbs wanted to hear, but it was the only one he had; and there wasn't an App in the world he could configure to fix _this_. "We're just supposed to wait here."

"How bad?"

Tony looked up again, from, what was apparently a very interesting spot on the floor. "Bad enough."

* * *

He glanced at the uniform, run-of-the-mill, wall clock that hung above his head. It reminded him of the ones stationed in the classrooms back in his old boarding school.

_And Jesus, twenty seven minutes had felt like hours; maybe the damn thing was broken_.

Tony couldn't help the distracted smile that tugged at his lips; you know that watched pot, _it calls the kettle black_.

McGee was the first to see the doctor advance through the glass doors and he elbowed Tony, who stood tall, looking expectantly at the approaching man in disgustingly pale green scrubs. "Okay," he started softly. "I'm Doctor Benjamin Tyler, the Attending Surgeon."

_Tony hated people with two first names._

_And who could pull off the man-tan_.

"She'll need surgery, but Ms. David was lucky. She should make nothing short of a full recovery."

"Surgery for what?" McGee prompted.

"I'm sorry. I can't disclose that information before contacting her family."

"Family's dead, Doc."

Tony winced at Gibbs' words; he had a way of making the most barefaced truths sound strangely severe, and it was unnerving to say the least.

"Well…," Dr. Tyler tapped the screen of his PDA determinedly, "Bethesda is taking their time sending us her full medical history, but from what we've got in the system, she has her husband listed as her Emergency Contact. An Anthony DiNozzo."

Tony turned red, catching McGee's look of sheer horror out of the corner of his eye. He'd have laughed if the side of his head hadn't already started to throb instinctively...

"Somethin' you feel like sharing, DiNozzo?"

"No. I mean, _NO_." He turned back to the doctor. "I didn't even know I was her contact. We're not…," he laughed nervously, dodging Gibbs' stare and flexing his fingers tensely, as if _that_ would explain everything. "She's just my partner."

Dr. Tyler's gaze shifted over the three men, making note of their sincere reactions; after a few seconds of uncertainty, he accepted faulty paperwork as sound justification. "Well, apparently Medical Transcription is an art few can master," he retorted. "But _you are_ Anthony DiNozzo?" Tony pulled out his badge, inclusive with a photo ID; not one he particularly liked, but it got the job done. "Alright then, would you rather go somewhere private?"

"Here's fine," Gibbs said definitively; Tony nodded in accord.

"Okay, like I said, she's lucky." He pushed some magazines out of his way and took a seat on the low wooden table, gesturing for them to follow suit; the three agents looked world-weary, and it was barely noon. "The worst of it is the internal bleeding. We've stopped it for now, but without intervention it'll only start up again. The surgery is standard, something we do every day, but we'll need your consent," he nodded to Tony. "'Cause it has its risks, and if anything goes wrong, we may have to remove her spleen. But we've pin-pointed the origin of the bleeding," he added quickly, seeing apprehension tugging at the small worry lines on Tony's face; the worry lines he'd undoubtedly blame Ziva for, _teasingly of course_, when she woke up.

_Because she was going to wake up_.

"So if all goes as planned, it'll be fairly non-invasive. Aside from that, she has a few badly bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and her right foot is broken in two places, so she'll need an air-suspension boot. If we cast it, there's a chance she could lose mobility."

"She'll love that," Tony smirked, and as pathetic the attempt, it got a chuckle out of McGee.

"And there are a few superficial lacerations that'll need some stitches. So, post-surgery, we'll monitor her concussion, and she'll be put on a regimen of antibiotics to prevent infection." The doctor pushed himself standing, and glanced at his watch. "I'll send a nurse over with consent forms, but if you'll excuse me, I need to call Bethesda. I'd like a full set of her records before we move forward."

He turned to leave, but Tony stopped him with a sturdy hand to the arm, "Wait," he insisted. "Is she awake?"

"Awake, but not exactly lucid. She's lost a good amount of blood." He looked down at the hand still holding him in place, which Tony quickly dropped. The doctor's tone dropped to a near whisper, "The surgery won't take long once we get underway. You'll be able to see her in a few hours, tops." He gave Tony a sympathetic smile before turning to leave.

_And why was it exactly that at the first mention of Ziva, his hatred for Dr. Man-Tan just, poof, disappeared?_

Dr. Tyler was barely out of earshot before Gibbs cleared his throat, aptly regaining the attention of his agents. "McGee," he beckoned, "I don't care how many laws you break, you get your ass down to Bethesda and wave your gun around until someone releases Ziva's medical records. If you have to pry the files away from an arthritic elderly nurse, you get them here."

"Got it."

"And on your way back, pick up Duck."

McGee took to picking at a suddenly pressing hangnail. "_Well, actually…Boss…"_

"Today, McGee."

"We left the truck at the scene," Tony answered.

"You both rode in the ambulance?"

"We kind of stole a cop car," McGee said guiltily. He'd have gone running down the hall if he could, but he still needed Gibbs' keys, so he settled for staring off into space, with a puckered, forced smile, awaiting a head slap.

_It wasn't like he could apologize_.

"Well alright then." Gibbs tossed him the keys, which almost hit him square in the face despite the underhanded throw. McGee gave him a questioning look. "What? Wouldn't have been my first choice, but it _beats doin' nothin'_." Tim started towards the door with a solemn glance over his shoulder, figuring that last part was more for Tony's benefit rather than his own. "And McGee?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Not a word to Abs 'till we got somethin' to say."

"Sure thing."

_That part wasn't going to be so easy_.

Tony looked at Gibbs uneasily. "What about me, boss?"

"You sit your ass down and wait for those consent papers." He picked up the latest edition of _Time Magazine_ and threw it at him. "Here. Read somethin'."

Tony looked at it in disgust. "Can I at least have a _Sports Illustrated_?"

"Want a smack?" he asked seriously. _He needed coffee. Damn kids were trying to send him to an early grave._

Tony opened the magazine dramatically, flipping through the pages until he landed on page fifty-seven. _Fifty Reasons the Economy Will Collapse by 2015_.

Not exactly the light reading he was hoping for.

* * *

_Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes._

Gibbs had gone for coffee twenty minutes ago, unquestionably taking the long route to the cafeteria, trying to give his Senior Field Agent some time to himself; but there was a fine line between _collecting your thoughts_ and _driving yourself insane_.

_And where the hell was McGee?_

_Yep, he was definitely going insane_.

Tony couldn't help but think about Ziva, _and_, another woman he'd cared for dearly, one who'd died years ago, _Special Agent Kate Todd_.

And, although he couldn't help but smile whenever his eyes fell upon her birth date on his desk calendar, or he caught a wet T-shirt contest on _MTV Spring Break_, it was a deceptively trivial memory that nagged at him today. He distinctly remembered Kate arguing on the phone with the naval hospital after being asked by Personnel to update her contact information; they'd refused to accept her previous Emergency Contact because her sister wasn't local; and by not local, they meant Miami, Florida. Even after Tony had offered, she'd decided to use someone else, in spite of the fact that her family was from New Orleans, and as far as he'd known, her closest relations were with co-workers.

And of course he'd loved Kate, in a familial, very genuine way, somewhat akin to his feelings for Abby; although, Abs would always be the _little sister, _with a fair share of hugs and innocent butterfly kisses to go around, whereas Kate was more of an equal, a true partner. He'd call her _one of the guys_, but it'd have been a lie to say he'd never pictured her naked. That, and she'd kick his ass.

And as guilty as it made him feel to even think it, he could live without her.

He'd lived without her for almost eight years now.

_But Ziva._

_Crazy, sexy, Apple-y smelling Zee-Vah._

Ziva David, ninja extraordinaire, decided to put Tony down as her Emergency Contact without even asking; and that meant that at some point, she'd felt comfortable enough, _trusted him enough_, to literally put her life in his hands, when he didn't even know if she had allergies.

_Because Kate just wasn't making him feel bad enough._

He was unaware his head had fallen into his hands, the soft heels of his palm massaging the throb in his temple, until the methodic diamond patterns of the carpet were interrupted by shiny platform lace-up shoes.

"I can't believe you were going to leave me out. _AGAIN!_" She stomped her foot when he didn't bother to look up. "Tony!"

"Abs," he groaned. "That had nothing to do with me."

"_That had nothing to do with me_," she mimicked spitefully. "You should have called me." Abby plopped down beside him and crossed her legs, the silver charms on her laces jingling with each maddening shake of her foot. "Where is she?" she asked calmly_. Too calmly for Abby_.

"Where's McGoo?"

"I asked you first, Tony! Where is she? And why aren't you with her? Why isn't _someone_ with her?"

His head snapped up. "She's in surgery. She's got a broken foot and a dislocated shoulder. And internal bleeding. So they may have to take out her spleen. And I'm not with her because _they told me I couldn't be_." His words had bite, only further punctuated by his brusque, curt sentences. "Anything else?" he asked.

He knew he should have been gentle,_ that if there was anyone in the world who needed gentle, it was Abby_, and there was a reason he hadn't argued with Gibbs about keeping her in the dark.

_He really had to work on not taking his frustrations out on people._

"No, nothing else." She leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes, "Zen," she whispered softly. "I'm in my Zen place."

Tony tried, to no avail, to suppress his grin, and he watched her with fascination. "Isn't Zen, like, a state of being?" he asked. "I don't think it's a place."

"I can't hear you," she murmured. "I'm in my Zen place." And suddenly she was loving, _cute little sister Abby_ again; the one who housed little golden retriever puppies named Mortimer and let them chew on her pig-tails. "If a splenectomy is worst case scenario, then she'll be okay. It's not great, but she can live without it."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm," she opened her eyes slowly. "It might put her at a higher risk for pneumonia, but Ziva doesn't get sick anyways."

"I heard its part of the ninja training," he winked, and she gave him a reluctant, pouty smile in return. His gaze shifted up and he whispered, "Bossman," nodding to the double doors.

Gibbs barely made it into the waiting room, holding two cups of coffee, when Abby flung herself into him; and he returned the hug despite his two busied hands. "Hey Abs," he whispered. "A little help, DiNozzo?"

"Oh, Gibbs. She'll be ok. I bet she left a huge Ziva shaped dent in the car. Like Superman, right Tony?"

Tony nodded in agreement. "_Right!_" he agreed with blatant, false enthusiasm. "Ziva's not exactly one to go down without a fight."

Abby punched him unsympathetically in the arm. "She's not down," she chastised. "She's just…taking a break. She'll be back good as new in no time. Maybe minus a spleen. Don't worry," she turned back to Gibbs, giving him a second, less suffocating hug, "when I get back to my lab, I'll find him, and I'll nail the guy to the wall."

Gibbs smiled at her determination. He had no doubt Abby would, as she'd say, '_Crucify him_'.

"Speaking of things that'll be nailed to the wall…" Tony pointed down the hallway where McGee and Ducky were making their way, rather hurriedly, through the throng of bustling lab coats.

"It's not his fault, Gibbs," Abby whispered. "It was Palmer who told me, I swear! And I didn't even come with McGee. I drove myself."

"Alright, Abs. It's fine. You're here now anyways."

Abby held the door open as the two men made their way into the waiting room. "I just saved your butt, McGee," she said sneakily as Tim walked past her.

Ducky was composed and unruffled as he stripped off his jacket and cap, the first of them to actually make use of the coat rack; McGee however was completely out of breath, hands on his knees, exhaling heavily. "Perhaps you should add some elliptical training to your exercise routine, Timothy," he chuckled. "Have we heard anything, Jethro?"

"Not yet, Duck."

"Well then," he clapped his hands together, "that leaves us with only one thing to do." He pulled out a deck of new playing cards. "Who knows how to play Gin-Rummy?"

An hour and a half later, McGee and Tony were convinced Abby was a cheater, and that Gibbs was somehow aiding in her debauchery. They were in the middle of their third game when Dr. Tyler advanced through the glass doors with news. Tony handed his cards to Abby and hastened to his feet to meet him half way.

"Everything went great," he assured them with a warm smile. "We were able to suture the tear in her spleen. It was a nice clean procedure, and she's getting a few last stitches as we speak. We still need to fit her into the boot, so she'll be ready and in a semi-private room in about an hour."

"Semi-private?" Tony asked. "Money's not an issue." If he could pay for his father to go to Monte Carlo, he could pay for Ziva to recover in a private room. She deserved that much.

_And maybe Senior would just have to figure out his own dilemma this time._

"No, no. Her insurance should cover most of it, and with any luck, she'll be in a private room within the next few days. We like to keep the patients with head injuries closer to the nurse's stations until we feel they're out of the woods, and Ms. David still has a nasty concussion."

"How long does she have to be here?" Abby asked, still sitting cross-legged behind the makeshift card table. Tony could see her knuckles go white as she fisted the two sets of cards tightly.

"Awhile. At least a week. I won't really be able to say past that until we see how fast she heals." His gaze shifted between the team, "Is this hers?" he asked, pointing to the NCIS jacket and her Kevlar vest lying idly on the chair next to Gibbs.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, that explains a lot, actually. Those vests are made to be a pretty snug fit, to kind of keep things packed down. And judging from her other injuries, I expected a few broken ribs. Don't get me wrong, she's got a few that are bruised pretty badly, but that vest dodged more than bullets today. And broken ribs would've added considerable time to her recovery." He smiled again, and gave Abby a mischievous wink. "So if I were you," he turned back to Tony, "I'd go grab something to eat and maybe come back in about an hour. It's highly doubtful she'll be set any time before then."

Tony looked back to Ducky and quirked a brow, silently asking for his input, but he only nodded with satisfaction in the doctor's explanation. "Thanks," Tony murmured, extending a hand to the man he'd hated just a few hours ago, reasons all but forgotten.

"Not a problem. I'm sure I'll be seeing you all soon."

"Alright Abs," he sighed, eyes still fixed on the doctor as he disappeared down the hall. "You better not have looked at my cards."

"You heard the doctor, DiNozzo. You've been here all morning. Take a walk."

"I'm fine, Boss. I'm just…"

"That's funny," Gibbs cut in, annoyed. "Don't remember that sounding like a suggestion."

Abby stumbled up to her feet, and stretched her back. "Come on, Tony," she cooed. "Buy a girl some lunch?" She bent down to look unabashedly at his backside. "Look, you've got your wallet and everything!" she said excitedly, tapping his left back pocket. She looped his arm in her own and pulled him towards the door. "We'll bring back some goodies," she promised over her shoulder.

Tony watched her intently as she carefully avoided the cracks in the tiles, a tricky feat with her big, clunky shoes. "So this thing," he asked, once they'd made it to a deserted strip of hallway, "You're not mad at me anymore 'cause McGoo left you out?" He smiled, shamelessly using the DiNozzo charm to his advantage.

"Buy me some pudding, and we'll take it from there," she teased, seemingly unaffected, although when they stepped in the elevator, she dropped her gaze and adopted a sly smirk.

"Deal."

* * *

A/N. I hope you're enjoying.

Reviews would be lovely.


	3. man in the mirror

(tony/ziva) Chemistry of a Car Crash

Chapter 3 Man in the Mirror

* * *

"Okay, it's official," Abby wielded her spoon across the cafeteria table. "Hospital pudding is the best invention ever. Which is weird, considering everything else here sucks."

Tony picked the bun off of his burger to look at the _mess on a plate _they were trying to pass off as food. "I don't know about you, but this cheeseburger looks mighty tasty, Abs." He was trying to convince himself as much as he was her. "Want half?"

She snickered, watching him eye his own desert in favor of the mystery meat. "When Tony DiNozzo offers to share his food, it's either bordering inedible or you're using me as your own personal canary in a mineshaft…so no thanks. That's all you," she pointed to his tray. "But I wouldn't think less of you if you just threw it out."

He half-wrapped the burger back in the parchment paper. "I wouldn't even feed this to McGee."

The pair sat, side by side, polishing off their chocolate treats in silence, catching plenty of looks from passersby, both visitors and doctors included. At first Tony didn't understand what was so alluring about their particular table, but when he looked down at the girl beside him, donning her usual wicked Catholic schoolgirl attire and bopping her head to music apparently only she could hear, he couldn't help but laugh aloud at what must have been going through the minds of the nosey bystanders. Not to say he hadn't gotten used to the looks, but in fact he'd become so at ease with Abby and her unorthodox ways, that sometimes he forgot just how peculiar she actually was.

"What?" she asked, knocking knees with him under the table. "What's so funny?"

"No, nothing," he assured her. His fixed grin told a different story and she traded her spoon for his spork threateningly. "Okay, down girl," he teased. "I was just laughing at all those people staring at us," he pointed to the line of people waiting to pay for their respective plates of goop.

Abby swatted his hand down, "You shouldn't point," she chastised. "It's rude."

"And they're not?" he asked defensively.

She shrugged. "I'm used to it. People uncomfortable with themselves tend to gawk. It's them you should feel bad for." Tony quirked a brow in question. "They probably have _really boring sex lives_," she clarified loudly. "But a face like this," she cooed, squeezing his cheeks in her left hand until his lips puckered, "I bet you get plenty of looks of your own." She released his face with a smile.

"I do alright," he admitted, massaging his jaw. "Although I must say, I don't think I'm in very high demand at the moment." Tony gave her a dramatic pout and his best attempt at puppy-dog eyes; _he hadn't had to use those for a while_. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. Have I done my penance? Am I forgiven yet?" he sighed.

"I'm not as delicate as you all think," she said matter-of-factly. "It's just, sometimes I feel like you think you're the only one who cares about her," she pondered aloud, "so I guess that's something I can forgive. _If_ you stop," she added quickly. "I mean, it's not like you're dating. And letting Ziva get hit by a car; come on! _Assuming you didn't push her_," she taunted.

He chuckled at her dramatics, rolling his eyes into the pieces of lettuce he was picking off his plate. "Yeah, I pushed Ziva. Cause that's safe, _for me_. Don't worry," he said. "You heard the doctor. She'll be fine and back to work in no time, and with Ziva that means, like, tomorrow. And then your _team_ will be back to normal."

Abby turned, pushing the table away so she could fit comfortably on the bench sideways; she fixed the pleats on her skirt to cover more of her thigh, sitting rather un-lady like with one leg folded beneath her. "First of all," she snapped, commanding his attention with her rigid, un-Abbylike tone. "That's not what he said. _He said_ she'd have to spend at least a week here, probably a few. Were you even listening?"

She pushed him weakly in the chest, her voice cracking; _this was the Abby he knew,_ the Abby Gibbs was trying to protect by keeping her out of the loop. Her eyes were glazed over, and Tony could only imagine the spectacle she'd cause with her big mascara stained tears in the middle of a crowded dining hall.

"And don't you go expecting her to wake up and hop out of bed, Tony. A concussion and internal bleeding doesn't just go away." She blinked a few times, trying to prevent the flow of tears, and reached past him to steal a few of his, _now disgustingly cold_, fries. Taking a few short breaths, she turned her back to him and dug into her over-sized black bag for her phone.

"Abs…"

"Shut up," she said softly; softly, he noticed, but not angrily. "Okay, I'm good."

"That's it?"

_Unlikely._

She sighed heavily. "_Jimmy said that McGee told Ducky that Gibbs__ told him_ not to tell me because he thought I couldn't handle it."

Tony's headache suddenly magnified, half-heartedly trying to follow her logic. "So you plan on _handling it_ in spite of him?"

_Only Abby could get away with that reasoning_.

"Yep," she said cheerfully. "If it means I get to be here for Ziva, _and_ _you call me _next time something happens, I can keep myself in check. And that means no tears."

"I won't tell, Abs," he promised. "If you need to just, you know, get it out before we go back up."

She turned back to him with a humorless look, un-befitting of the usually lighthearted goth. "Oh, don't worry," she assured him. "I'm getting something out. You're messing everything up," she accused in soft hysterics. "I saw her face today when you guys were leaving. When you just walked right passed her, didn't even acknowledge her."

"Whoa," he defended. "You just said you were fine. _You just said_ it, remember? The dynamic duo," he gestured between them, "against McGoo."

"_We _are not the dynamic duo," she denied. "Oh, don't look at me like that; we both know how it goes. It's _you and Ziva_ and _me and Timmy_. We like the computer stuff and you guys like guns and hand-to-hand combat or whatnot."

Tony had to shy away from her emphatic hand gestures when she tried to explain_ hand-to-hand combat_. Judging from her re-creation, she'd actually be pretty good at it.

"Look," she commanded, "I'm not saying that McGee doesn't like guns or the occasional _bros over hoes_ moment, but he, well he plays with model rockets, Tony. And Ziva's _your partner_. She might be all self-preservation-al and pokerfaced, _awesome song by the way_," she smiled, "but she's not really like that on the inside, and you know it. She's like a fortune cookie. It tastes like stale cardboard, but everyone wants them because of what's on the inside. The fortune."

"Abby?"

"Not done yet," she insisted, taking a long sip of her fountain soda. "I don't know why you guys seem so _content…_, oh I don't know, _content just being_, recently, and I don't want to know. But she just lost her father, Tony. And you know she's still not over Bodner getting away. Stupid little fights like this…"

"Oh, c'mon Abs, we're not fighting." She poked him defiantly in the chest, right where she'd hit him earlier. "Abby, I bruise easily."

"Good," she said cheekily. "You're just such a…"

"What?" he smiled. "Charmer? Roguishly handsome man you'd like to...?"

"I don't know how she puts up with you."

Tony dropped eye-contact and groaned, displeased with the turn of the conversation.

"She might not know the difference between a Granny Smith Apple and a grandmother whose last name just happens to be _Smith_, but she's not stupid, Tony. She knows when people are dodging her. _Especially_ you."

Abby sank down into the plush cushions again, and for a few minutes, she just sat there, letting her leg hit his as she swung them idly from side to side. Tony looked down at her a few times, but she ignored him, letting him stew; she wasn't punishing him, but a few minutes to mull things over could only do him some good. She knew she'd overstepped, just a bit, probably made a mole hill into a mountain, but as an innocent onlooker to their never ending game of cat-and-mouse, Abby hadn't seen either Tony or Ziva _this happy_, ever;

_And if the boy in Anthony DiNozzo didn't man-up and snag Ziva before someone else tried again, she'd just have to kill him._

She used her thumb to swipe the last of the pudding from the small container and licked it off seductively, messing with a curious group of teenage boys; they immediately averted their eyes with a particularly hard glare from Tony. "Do you flirt like that when you go out with McGoo?" he asked. "Doubt he appreciates it."

"Since when do you care about McGee's feelings?" she laughed.

"Maybe since I have to shed the label of _insensitive_," he mumbled.

"I never said you were insensitive; I know that Ziva never would've made it through these past few months without you." She stood and straightened her skirt, wiggling just enough to grab the boys' attention again. "Just don't let the little things get in the way," she whispered.

Tony looked up at her, questioningly, looking for a hidden meaning behind her words.

Or maybe he just wanted to know that someone else saw it.

_Saw them; together_.

The way when she laughed, Ziva leaned into him, resting her head on his arm, if only for the briefest of seconds.

Or the way it had become normal for, at any given time, Tony's desk to be deserted for a less comfortable but highly favored hunched position, reading over Ziva's shoulder, or half-sitting on her file cabinet.

_Because he just wanted to be near her._

_And he wanted to know that it wasn't all in his head. _

Abby glanced at her watch, noticing the time. "Jeez. We've been down here for forty five minutes." She looked at the dwindling lines at the registers and back at her watch. "I'm going to the girl's room, and then I'll get some food _that's actually fit for human_ _consumption_ for the guys upstairs. Meet you at the elevators?"

"Yeah. Sure."

He looked defeated, like one of those kids on Christmas who've already opened their presents and were absent a ridiculously entertaining_ Tickle Me Elmo_.

"Aw, Tony," she cooed, walking around to the other side of the table. "Don't be sad," she pouted. "I still love you. She smiled brightly and planted a loud, smooching kiss on his forehead. "C'mon, Tim will be enough of a kill joy. _Buck up, Marine_."

She spun on her heels, sparing one last look over her shoulder; Tony watched her walk away with a grin, pigtails bouncing as she traipsed off towards the pudding stand.

_Only Abs_.

* * *

I'm in the final revisions of Chapter 4; It should be up no later than tomorrow afternoon.

I know it's been a while, but I hope you guys are still interested in my writing/stories.

Again, reviews would be lovely.

-Katie


	4. somewhere a clock is ticking

(tony/ziva) Chemistry of a Car Crash

Chapter 4: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

* * *

The pair stood close, despite having the elevator to themselves, neither of them caring enough to move out of each other's personal space.

When soft vibrations and music emanated from her leather bag, Abby quickly thrust the drink tray and snacks into Tony's unsuspecting hands, and he struggled to juggle everything without spilling the contents to the floor. Even without peeking, he was fairly certain if he untied the knot at the top of the plastic bag, _the plastic bag that mocked him with every glance telling him to 'Have a Nice Day'_, all he would find was pudding.

And maybe Cheetos.

Just the thought of such a combination made his stomach churn.

With a quick swipe of her index finger, Abby's phone lit up and her lips twisted into a knowing smile as she read her text. "McGee says they're moving her to Recovery. Fourth floor." She all but pushed Tony out of the way to get to the panel and changed their floor selection.

"It's a good sign," she confirmed, watching as he rested his weight against the wall. "It means she's okay. I was afraid they were going to put her in the ICU."

Tony remained silent, but he extended his hands, offering her the wobbly drink tray, but she shook her head in playful defiance. "I paid for it. The least you can do is carry it," she giggled.

The elevator doors opened and they were joined by a few staff members dressed in colorful scrubs printed with cartoon characters.

"This must be the Peds Ward," she whispered as she again took her place by Tony. His eyes were closed, she noticed, his breathing deep and fixed.

_He was thinking._

So for a moment she let him be, but as the elevators slowed a second time, Abby tugged on his arm gently. "We should get off, Tony. We'd already passed the fourth floor when I pressed the button. If we don't catch another elevator, we'll go all the way up before we get back down."

"Abby, please," he murmured. "Just wait it out, okay? Just…," Tony looked down at her with such intensity, _with such obvious aching_, that she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Just, stand here. Okay? Just stand with me?"

"Okay," she agreed quietly. Abby slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and wriggled to find a good resting spot for her head on his arm; preferably one that wouldn't ruffle her pigtail. "I'll tell you when we get there."

She'd seen that look before. It was the look he got whenever Ziva was in trouble.

_When she went missing during the Cobb case._

_When she showed up at NCIS after her father had been murdered._

_It was the way he'd been looking at her, just touching her face, as the elevator doors opened before they collectively mourned Mike Franks' death._

And just as they began their eleven floor decent, she remembered the worst of them; the heartbreaking look on his face, years ago when they'd learnt Ziva's fate aboard the Damocles.

"_There were no survivors."_

_God. She was definitely going to have to keep an eye on him._

* * *

To Tony's dismay, their arrival into the waiting area wasn't as warmly accepted as he'd hoped.

Gibbs, McGee and Ducky were standing clustered in a corner, holding heated conversation with Dr. Tyler, who in place of his high-tech netbook, held a clipboard, messy and overflowing with frayed pieces of paper, presumably out of Ziva's medical file from Bethesda. Taking a second glance at Dr. Tyler, he looked almost as disheveled as the papers in his hand.

Tony groaned inwardly.

_Not a good sign._

Abby brushed passed them, taking her cue, and finally, the snacks from Tony, dropping them on a nearby table. She took hold of McGee's hand, waiting attentively, quietly, _calmly,_ for the update.

And suddenly all eyes were on Dr. Tyler.

"Well, Doc," Gibbs' sanctioned, clearly irritated with the lack of information provided in Tony's absence. "He's here now. What've you got?"

Dr. Tyler cleared his throat, purposely directing his full attention towards Tony. "Agent DiNozzo," he pled, his voice a strained whisper, "I understand the family dynamic here, but I have personal questions about Ms. David." He gave Gibbs' an apologetic look before turning back to Tony. "Please, just step right through here," he gestured towards the heavy double doors that lead to the Nurses' Station. "It won't take more than a few minutes."

Despite Gibbs' look of disapproval, Tony followed.

They retreated to a small room, carefully making their way through the crowd of bustling nurses. Tony stood beside a large empty table, and after a quick scan of the room, he construed it to be a staff lounge; the walls were covered in hand written thank you cards and instant photos, each one a snapshot of happy, smiling faces. Even the few that included tears appeared to be tears of joy.

Dr. Tyler wiped his brow, settling into a plush chair with wheels, signaling for Tony to do the same. He pried his clipboard open and handed Tony copies of old records. "While I appreciate Agent McGee's efforts to ensure I received Ms. David's full file, _this_," he spread out the pages and pointed to the thick black lines, undoubtedly made by indelible marker, that covered at least half of each printed page, "is what I got."

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but all he heard was the sound of his heart sink right through his chest.

_How could he explain something he himself couldn't understand? _

Dr. Tyler saw his distress and took pity. "I understand," he assured Tony, "that there is sensitive information here, because of your job, that is probably of no use to me anyway. But I need to know a few things."

"Anything." Tony straightened in his chair; he wasn't sure how helpful he could be, but he would damn well try.

"How long have you been partnered with Ms. David?"

"Almost eight years."

"Are you aware of the incident from…," he shuffled through a few sheets, squinting at the small print. "Sorry. I'm not used to such awful copies. This is the first time _in years_ I've actually seen full sets of medical files in actual _file_ form. Everything is electronic now."

He turned a final page and handed it to Tony. "From this incident in 2009?"

Tony gazed down at the old print out, most of which was unreadable. It looked like a copy of a copy, and the only discernible information provided were dates. Ziva had been admitted to Bethesda on September 23, 2009, and she was released on her own accord less than twenty four hours later.

_Yeah, he remembered. _

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't need details," he promised. "I can put most of the pieces together, between the remnants of her file and scar tissue."

Tony winced outwardly at the thought.

_At the thought of her scars._

_And at the thought of another man looking at them._

"But, as her Attending," he pushed, "is there anything I should know before further treatment."

"Like what?"

Dr. Tyler sighed, fruitlessly trying to skirt the subject. "Do you think that Ms. David would prefer a female Attending? Because if so-"

"Are you the best surgeon here?" Tony asked.

"I'm sorry?"

While Tony appreciated the doctor's concern for Ziva's comfort, her well-being meant so much more.

_That, and he didn't like to think about it._

_About what'd happened that summer._

_About why Dr. Tyler would even ask such a question. _

"I asked, 'Are you the best surgeon here.'" He was clear and pronounced, markedly dismissing the question. "Because if you are, then the answer is 'no'." Tony saw apprehension on the doctor's face; "Look," he breathed. "It's been four years. She's moved on. _We've_ moved on."

He gave Tony a sad smile and collected the sheets strewn across the table. "Okay," he conceded. "I should stop speculating. I'm probably making it into more than it actually is," he admitted.

Tony took Dr. Tyler's lead and got up to leave, _just hoping_ that the conversation was over, but something in the doctor's voice had him doubling back. "_Making what_ into more than it actually is?"

Dr. Tyler shook his head, regretting bringing up said subject. "It's probably nothing," he shrugged.

But Tony stood purposefully between him and the door, the handle crudely digging into his lower back.

_Not that he cared. _

"_What's nothing_?"

"It's common," he explained, notably avoiding eye contact, his eyes darting to and fro in search of relief, "for patients to be confused when they wake from an unplanned surgery. They don't know where they are or what's happened. It can be…," he searched for the right word, careful not to elicit unnecessary worry. "It can be _overwhelming_, for some."

Still, Tony's brows knit together in concern. "Overwhelming how? Is she awake?"

"No. She's not awake."

"Look," Tony barked. His fingers flexed wildly, concurrently making fists and terse open palms as he spoke; "I don't know what the Hell is going on here. But you better shed some light, and fast, because _I don't like being kept in the dark." _His voice faded from anger to anguish, "If there's something wrong_, just tell me_."

"Ms. David-"

"Ziva," Tony corrected sharply. Normally formalities didn't bother Tony, but the doctor was pronouncing her last name wrong, and it was driving him insane.

"Okay, _Ziva_. Post-surgery we weaned her off the anesthesia, and she was groggy, but coherent. A nurse tried fitting _Ziva_," he stressed her name again, "for her boot-"

"Tried?"

"Once lucid, she became hysterical," Dr. Tyler answered quickly. "She kept trying to get up, popped a stitch in her side. We had to sedate her."

"_Sedate her_?"

"She put up a fight with the nurse. He's got a few scratches, but nothing major." He watched Tony's face contort as he rubbed his eyes, the weight of his body being held up by the door, his chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths. "I walked in towards the end of it," he pressed on. "I think she thought she was-"

"Yeah, I get it," Tony snapped.

_She'd woken up alone. And confused. And in pain._

_She thought she was being attacked_.

_Ziva thought she was being attacked, and Tony hadn't been there to help her. _

"We only gave her a mild sedative," Dr. Tyler clarified, "so she'll be awake soon, and it's probably best if you're there. Come on," he prodded. "I'll take you to her room."

"Thank you."

_It was all Tony could muster. _

He was too busy thinking, remembering the frightened look on her face when he'd shaken her awake from, quite possibly, the same horrifying nightmare just weeks ago. The pained look in her eyes, the pure terror as she screamed out for him to '_stop', _when all he'd wanted to do was help her. She'd been trembling and sweating and embarrassed, but at least she'd woken up safe.

_Safe, and in his bed._

_He refused to think about how much worse it must have been when her nightmare continued after her eyes opened. _

They stopped outside room #417, and Dr. Tyler let his hand rest on the push bar. "I've arranged it so that she won't have a roommate until tomorrow afternoon, considering. Visiting hours are until nine," he informed Tony, "but you've lucked out. Nurse Hazlett is on second watch, and if you keep a low profile, she won't bother you."

Tony nodded in appreciation.

"I'll send for your friends," he said, turning to leave. "But Agent DiNozzo?"

"Ya."

"I would advise that only one, maybe two of you stay the night. Sleep is crucial to recovery."

"Okay," Tony agreed. He pushed the door open and forced himself inside.

The room smelled clean, like fresh linen, and it was too dark for Tony's liking, the only light coming through the window on the other end of the room.

Just beyond the threshold was a restroom, followed by an empty bed, a makeshift closet with an accordion Pella door, and a small flat screen television mounted to the wall.

_At least she got the bed with the view._

He stepped past the curtain that partitioned the room in half, and his heart swelled at the sight of her.

He'd seen her a mere four hours ago, and yet to Tony, it felt as if it'd been days.

Her hair was still straight and loose, revealing the bruises on her face, and he immediately noticed a deep gash along her hairline a few inches above her left ear. The butterfly stitch would have to be changed soon; she'd already bled through the suture. Her right foot was encased by a pressurized black boot, propped up on a few pillows, and as he walked around to the other side of the bed, he noticed her IV and a small blue clip on her index finger. Tony had watched enough medical based dramas to know it was called a _Pulse Oximeter_.

He quietly pulled a chair from beneath the large window and sat as close to her as he could, without interfering with any of the wires tangled across the floor. He reached out and brushed back a stray strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, letting his fingertips trace the outline of her face for just a few extra seconds. He wanted nothing more than to run his hands up and down her arms, to look at her, _really look at her_, and make sure she was okay.

_But for now, he was resigned to sit beside her and wait._

Because the others would undoubtedly show soon.

Abby would let out a few muffled sniffles, and Ducky would peek through her chart posted at the foot of the bed, reassuring everyone of a full recovery.

But Tony would sit. And he would wait.

Because someday soon, he would find each and every scar, every bruise_,_ _every mar and blemish on her flawless skin, _and demand to know their origin. He would trace them with his fingers, _with_ _his lips_, and he would make her forget. About each and every one of them. About everything.

_But not today; today, he would wait._

* * *

A/N. Okay guys, it's 5am, and I'm heading to bed.

I'm trying really hard to get comfortable with conversational writing...one of these days I'll get it!

I hope you liked it, even though it's more on the informative side, rather than interactive.  
Let's hear it for a happier Tony next chapter! =)

Thanks again guys!

And as always, reviews would be lovely,

Katie.


	5. tender

(tony/ziva) Chemistry of a Car Crash

Chapter 5: Tender

* * *

Tony barely lifted his head in acknowledgement when his team members trudged their way into the room; he just stared at the monitor opposite Ziva's bed, ineffectually trying to make sense of the jumpy numbers and unstable beeping. He gave up with a heavy sigh, the silence painfully evident, and all too much for him to handle.

Tony leaned back in the chair and looked up at Gibbs; "What about the case, Boss?"

"Another team," he dismissed with a shrug.

_And, God, that wasn't good. _

_Gibbs hated handing cases over_.

"When is she going to wake up?" Abby asked Ducky quietly. "It feels like she should be out of it by now."

He reached for her chart, _just like Tony knew he would_, and flipped through the few pages, Gibbs reading attentively over his shoulder. Two pair of eyes flickered almost simultaneously towards Tony, and taking in his silent nod of validation, Ducky took one last quick scan of the pages and placed the damning file back at the foot of the bed. When Abby reached for it, the good doctor stilled her movements with a raised hand; "Perhaps," he argued softly, "we should give Ziva her privacy." And with a small huff of frustration, Abby dropped her gaze and accepted defeat.

Thankfully, McGee wasted no time in distracting her, digging through the bag of snacks and emptying the contents onto a small rolling table, carefully picking and choosing from the selection. Surprisingly, Abby had made some good choices, and aside from an abundance of pudding cups, she'd bought an array of chips, both pita and potato, and a few cold cut sandwiches wrapped tightly in cellophane.

"Gibbs," she called. "Roast beef?"

"Nah, Abs," he nodded. "Thanks."

She turned to Tony, sitting still in the chair, hand outstretched, offering her fountain soda.

And as much as he wanted to say _no_, to shake his head in that way that told her to _just leave him be_, his mouth was suddenly uncomfortably dry, so he accepted it with a smile. She patted him on the head playfully; "You're welcome," she teased, before turning her attention back to McGee, force feeding him cinnamon flavored pita chips.

Twenty minutes went by quickly, _easily_, as they all watched Tim lose to Abby, _for the umpteenth time_, at _Slaps_. And despite the genuine look of displeasure each and every time, Tony was almost positive his all-grown-up Probie was purposely losing to see the look of sheer glee on the Goth's face. "You're a pretty good slap-ee McGoo," he provoked, laughing at the reddened backs of Tim's hands. "But you're an awful slapper."

McGee opened his mouth to defend himself, but Tony's head spun to the left, quickly abandoning conversation; Ziva was still motionless, but Tony swore he'd heard her, _a whimper maybe_. Her head lolled to the left, her face falling out of his line of vision, and the methodic beeping from behind her bed picked up frequency. "Abby," he ordered, "Go get a nurse."

...

_Her head throbbed beyond reason and her eyelids were far too heavy._

_And everything ached_.

_God, everything ached_.

A male nurse busily strode through the door, Abby trailing close behind; but as they reached the middle of the room, he gestured for the team to leave, pulling the striped curtain. "She's fine," he assured them. "Propofol's just wearing off. She's waking up. The doctor's on his way."

Ziva groaned again, and despite Tony's refusal to leave, Nurse Cameron, _marked by his nametag_, continued his preliminary assessment. His fingers fluttered over her left wrist but Ziva pulled away, her hand coming to rest on the poorly bandaged gash on her forehead.

_Always so difficult_.

Her eyes squeezed shut, and her face twisted in pain when she squared her shoulders.

And before Tony could stop him, Nurse Cameron was calling her name out, the pad of his thumb attempting to force her eyelids open.

It happened so quickly, Tony barely had time to react; within seconds Ziva had the nurse's wrist in a tight grip that left her knuckles white, and his penlight dropping to the floor. Her eyes were wide open, _of her own volition_, and they darted around the room, desperately trying to make sense of her surroundings.

"Ziva!" Tony spluttered gruffly. "No."

Her head snapped to the right, her long tresses a whirring blur with the force, and she finally met his gaze; she relaxed somewhat at the sight of him, a calmness washing over the features of her face.

_But, she still looked afraid_.

Tony leaned over the bed, her short, winded breaths not going unnoticed, and gently tugged her fingers from around Cameron's wrist. "Hey, let's keep the physical assault to a minimum, huh?" he quipped. "Especially with those in charge of administering the meds?"

She nodded slowly, in shaky, unsure agreement.

Tony tore his eyes away from her, just long enough to notice the pink scratches on Nurse Cameron's forearms.

_He was the same nurse from earlier_.

"Uh- we'll wait for Doctor Tyler, if that's okay," he said calmly.

Cameron quirked a brow, but scooped up his penlight and turned to leave. "He should be down in a few minutes."

Tony gave him an appreciative glance before turning back to his partner, her eyes busy examining her right hand and the curve of her elbow, the telling IV and colorful wires leading to a blind spot behind her head. Even without a sling, Tony knew it was the dislocated arm; her lips pressed together in discomfort when she let it fall limply back at her side. He leaned his weight against the arm rest of the chair he'd positioned by her bed and tried interlacing her fingers with his own, but before he could, she gripped his thumb tightly with her small fingers;

_And all Tony could do was look at her in awe, his hand awkwardly resting on hers. _

"Alright?" he asked tersely.

Ziva licked her lips, they were dry and cracked; and it seemed as though, at some point, she'd bitten down on the inside of her cheek, because she could feel the rough flesh with her tongue.

_And all she could taste was copper. _

_Blood_.

"Yes."

"Well, Ziva," he teased softly, "you're scaring the natives."

She rolled her eyes and settled back into the pillows, the bed reclined back half-way.

_Just enough to be uncomfortable_.

She bent her left knee, and peered over the white linen sheets by her feet with tired eyes. "My leg," she mumbled, nodding to the right.

"Broken. But it's casted up nice." She sighed, unhappy. "I noticed the nail polish, though. Didn't think rouge was your color?"

"It is called _Rock-On Red_," she corrected wearily. "Abby bought it for me."

"Well, now. You see? That makes sense."

And before she could respond, _before she could even think to ask why he disassociated her with anything remotely feminine_, Ziva's back stiffened at the presence in the doorway, her eyes immediately finding the lingering Dr. Tyler. She dropped Tony's had quickly; he tried ignoring the loss of warmth, turning his attention to the doctor, but alas, he found it difficult.

"Doc," he acknowledged with a nod.

Dr. Tyler wore a tired smile, the apprehension radiating off his person, feeling as though he'd walked into something intimate. "Sorry to interrupt, but," he walked to the closest side of the bed, opposite Tony, "it's good to see you awake, Miss David." Ziva crinkled her nose at the mispronunciation of her name, but did nothing to correct him. "How're we doing here?"

"Fine," they answered in unison.

"Did you rehearse that?" he asked with a chuckle.

Ziva allowed him to check her vitals, and finish the previously botched assessment, all without physical repercussions.

_Thank god_.

Ziva could wiggle her toes, touch her nose with her eyes closed, and recount what she'd eaten for breakfast.

Dr. Tyler ran through her list of injuries, noting the bandage at her hairline would need to be re-dressed, and with each addition, Ziva sunk further and further into the pillows, disheartened.

_And she was just, so, tired_.

"Are you having trouble focusing?" Dr. Tyler asked. He moved in closer to take a look at her pupils, and seeing Tony's hesitation, he questioned, "May I?"

Ziva bowed her head back in silent approval; "It is just, how do you say," she mumbled, "fizzy."

"Fuzzy," Tony amended after a beat.

"Well, most cognitive problems go away themselves," he informed Tony. "There's no medication for it, and the CT scan shows it's nasty. It may take a while. And as for the pain," he mentioned noticing a rather open grimace; he reached down to the table next to her bed, and placed a purple gadget by her left hand. "It's a PCA," he told her. "Patient controlled pain medication. It's already hooked up to your IV."

Ziva paid as close attention as she could, Tony listening fixedly beside her. There were nine buttons total, but they seemed relatively easy to operate, a real need only for three: _Stop, Start_, and_ Silence_.

"If you press it and it beeps like this," they listened to a loud triple beep, "it means it's too soon for another dose, and it'll stop the drip. So, on a scale of one to ten, how much pain would you say you're in right now?"

Ziva fingered the cool plastic, looking down at it with droopy eyes, "A four, maybe."

_It sounded more like a question than an answer._

_It sounded like a lie_.

"Okay," the doctor said cautiously; he glanced at Tony for reassurance, but it didn't come.

_Tony could never make her do anything she didn't want to do._

_Ziva David was a stubborn woman. _

"It's there if you need it," he reassured them. "I have to finish my rounds," he checked off a few boxes on her chart and smiled. "But I'll be back in an hour or two to check up on you guys. And I'll send the others back in."

"No rush," Tony called out to the departing lab coat.

"Others?" She was disappointed.

_Tony she could handle, even with the goofy grin he was giving her, but the others?_

_She could hardly keep her eyes open, let alone try being the center of attention_.

"What?" she asked, her left hand tucking the PCA safely under her blanket.

_Tucking it away, but not using it._

Tony returned to his plush seat, happy with the amount of snark in her voice despite her constant stifled yawns. "Nothing," he dismissed lightly. "I just, well…, you never told me I was your Emergency Contact."

Ziva's brow furrowed in confusion, "Who else would it be?"

"It was just funny. That's all."

"Funny?"

"Yeah," his lips puckered, unsuccessfully trying to hide his smile. "I'm listed as _your husband_, Ziva. I think you gave McGee a heart attack."

Her eyes widened marginally, suddenly feeling a need to defend her actions. "I did not check the box that said _'spouse',"_ she claimed.

"What'd you check? _Partner?_" he teased.

Her senses were obviously dulled, missing the inflection. "Yes," she answered evenly. Tony watched as she shifted uncomfortably in the sheets. Her fingers found the push buttons on the left bedrail and the mattress inclined into an upright position. She let out an uncharacteristic whimper of pain as she adjusted herself.

_Because God, she hadn't expected sitting to hurt so much_.

Her hand came to rest high on her abdomen rubbing it into numbness, ignoring Tony's pained expression, and cutting him off before he even opened his mouth. "What was I supposed to check? You are my partner."

His brow furrowed in clear disapproval, but his expression changed quickly at her confusion.

_That was some crazy ninja logic he was just simply not prepared to follow_.

"_Domestic Partner_, Ziva," he smiled. "There's no special box for us officers of the law."

"Domestic Partner?"

_It had to be the concussion_.

"Yeah. As in, Common Law marriages, or," he searched for the appropriate terminology, "alternative couples."

He beamed down at her playfully.

_Alternative couple; despite its standard use, the term seemed fitting. _

_They certainly were unconventional. _

"Ah," she breathed. "I will be sure to fix that." Ziva's lips mashed together, her nose scrunching in curiosity. "Where are my things?"

"Um-, I don't really know," he admitted. "What do you need?"

"Chapstick," she confessed, licking her lips again. He reached into his pocket and produced his own, which she accepted willingly. "Thank you."

"You know," he attempted and failed at a plausible segue, re-capping the tube and putting it on the side table, "he gave you that thing for a reason." He pointed towards the PCA contraption concealed between the sheets. "You're supposed to use it."

"I am fine," she insisted coolly. "And I am tired enough." He pursed his lips, not liking her response.

_But then again, what exactly had he expected_?

"Ziva," he pressed, "if you need it-"

"If I needed it, I would have used it," she challenged. "But I do not need it. And I am not fond of drugs. They will make my mind _fuzzier_ than it already is."

He opened his mouth to rebut_, to tell her that she didn't need to be on guard_.

_That she could let her mind go fuzzy, and let her body go numb, because he was there. _

_He would be on guard for her_.

But a soft knock on the door and the sight of swinging pigtails announced the arrival of the others, and he let it go.

...

Within an hour Ziva had had enough.

_Of everything_.

There were too many people talking at once, and she was having a hard time keeping up with the conversations; her focus was off, and judging by the looks Gibbs and Tony were exchanging, she wasn't hiding it as well as she'd hoped. So she sipped on her _Shasta_, willing it to taste more like coffee and less like no-name ginger ale, silently hoping Gibbs would suddenly push himself from his place, silently leaning against the wall, and order them all back to work.

Back to NCIS.

_And all she wanted to do was sleep, but the sharp pain in her side and the throbbing in her head would've made it impossible regardless_.

"Ziva?"

"Yes, Abby?" she whispered. Her eyes were fixed on the television mounted in the corner of the room, and it took considerable willpower to tear them off the screen.

_Not that she could've repeated what she'd been watching_.

It had been more of a blank stare, and the reminder of her unfocused state left her frustrated.

But Abby was giving her one of her signature coy smiles, and it was all she could do to return the gesture. "What?"

"You used it!" she said excitedly, pointing to her exposed toes. "The polish I got you. You used it."

Ziva swayed her left foot playfully. "Of course I did. It dried quickly, too. I like that."

Tony felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and for the first time, in what possibly could've been hours, he took his eyes off the bedded ninja, and glanced down at the screen.

_Senior_.

Needing to stretch his legs, and satisfied with Gibbs' company as leaving Ziva in '_good hands'_, he muttered something about '_being right back_,' and stepped into the corridor to take the call.

An orderly arrived, passing Tony in the doorway, delivering Ziva's dinner which consisted of chicken broth and unsalted crackers, and a few servings of lemon sorbet for desert. But, despite the late hour, Ziva wasn't hungry, so it sat idle by her bedside.

Gibbs brushed up behind Abby, whispering something in her ear, and she gave him an angry pout. "We still have a few hours," she argued.

"Well if you still want the weekend off you better get crackin' on the evidence waiting in your lab, Abs."

She'd almost forgotten about that. McGee had mentioned earlier that Dornie had signed for the box of evidence and locked it securely in her lab.

_They may have turned over the original case, but now they had to figure out who hit Ziva._

_Who hit her, and fled_.

Her shoulders dropped at the thought of another long night, but if she worked fast, _maybe recruiting Tim's help_, she'd have the whole weekend to spend with Ziva. She stood and looked pointedly at Ziva; "What do you need me to bring when I come back?" she asked. "I have books, and music. And clothes! You'll need clothes," she said determinedly. "Although," she thought aloud, "I don't know how you'll fit your pants over the boot." Her eyes wandered to the ceiling in thought. "Whatever," she surmised hastily. "We'll figure it out!"

She and McGee said their goodbyes, Tim intentionally less affectionate, almost afraid to touch her.

_In fact, he'd been near silent the entire afternoon._

Ziva smiled weakly at him, as he threw one final glance over his shoulder in mock desperation, exiting behind Abby and Ducky.

Gibbs waited a full minute after their departure before approaching her bedside. "How's the leg?"

"Fine," she said simply; she toyed with the ends of her hair, unwilling to lie straight to his face.

"And your head?"

Ziva grinned up at him, cheeks flushing with the attention. "I am _fine_, Gibbs."

"Huh. Well that's good. Do me a favor?" he asked daringly. "Lift your arm? Your shooting arm."

_The right one_.

Her brown eyes flickered with unease, but she inhaled deeply, ready to raise her hand in defiance.

_She'd been through worse. _

_She'd been through a Hell of a lot worse_.

_A dislocated shoulder and a broken leg should've been a cake walk_.

Gibbs gently stilled her hand with his own before she'd managed a few inches. He wasn't sure why or how long she planned to suffer in silence, but he knew it wasn't necessary, or conducive to her recovery. "There's no award for bravery here," he said softly.

"There never is," she quipped.

He watched her for a moment, allowing her to yet again nervously pick at her split ends; "You know, watching you in this kind of pain just might kill him," he said.

"Well, I am sure visiting hours are nearly over. He can go home soon."

Gibbs was surprised by her tone. She wasn't intentionally selling DiNozzo short, but Ziva actually believed he'd leave her. "Well," he gave a hollow chuckle. "He can't do that. He's got orders to stay the night. DiNozzo's got first shift."

_Not that he had any other choice. His Senior Field Agent was almost as stubborn as the broken girl in front of him._

"I do not need a baby sitter, Gibbs," she stated petulantly. "And even if I did, there are professionals here, paid to do just that."

"_Ziver,"_ he said, his voice echoed with finality; "I said_, 'DiNozzo's got first shift'_. He's staying."

As if on cue, Gibbs could hear Tony's voice outside the room; within seconds his figure appeared, back turned to them, still on the phone. He looked annoyed, but when he peeked in the room, he waved at the duo, grinning like an idiot. Gibbs caught Ziva's eye roll, _and the makings of a smile, _and repressed the urge to slap her.

_Using the soft touch of course. _

"Give him a break, huh? He was worried about you." He leaned down to drop a quick kiss at her hairline. "Night, kid."

"Good night, Gibbs."

...

Ziva fell asleep sometime before ten, drifting off in the middle of a 60s sitcom episode that seemed to mesmerize Tony.

_Tony, who had forced her to eat her crackers and lemon sorbet while he grazed his way through five bags of chips and half of a cafeteria sandwich, leaving a trail of crumbs in his wake_.

_Tony, who, after a particularly labored shift for comfort, instead of rehashing the subject, simply got up and moved to the opposite side of the bed, silently freeing the PCA from her blankets and emphatically placing it in her good hand._

It was before dawn, _shift change_, when Ziva woke to a pretty, older nurse in pink scrubs, taking note of her vitals.

"I can barely get my husband to not fall asleep on the sofa these days," she whispered with a smile. "That one's a keeper."

Ziva looked down to her right. Tony was asleep, sitting in _his_ chair, arched over, his head atop folded arms mere inches away from her hip.

_And he was snoring softly into his elbow_.

The nurse moved over to rouse him, but Ziva shook her head softly. "Leave him," she whispered. "He's fine." She lifted her hand, triggering a deep, raw pain in the socket of her shoulder, and she ran her fingers through the short locks at the base of his neck, lightly massaging his scalp. He let out a reflexive groan of appreciation, but his labored breathing resumed quickly, and Ziva smiled into the darkness.

Her fingers slowed, only momentarily, at the realization that: _whether or not she wanted it, whether or not she deserved or asked for it, she was stuck with one Anthony DiNozzo Jr._

And after hours of lying to herself, of laying in misery, she reached for the small electronic PCA device by her side, and pressed _Start_ twice.

_And then just once more_.

Sleep claimed her quickly, a final steady slumber, but not before she'd decided;

_Decided that yes, she wanted him._

_Yes, she deserved him._

_And yes, she was asking for him_.

* * *

**A/N:**

**_Hey; still with me? I hope you're enjoying it so far. _**

**_Preemptive & late thanks for the follows/faves/reviews.  
_**

**_I love you all._**

**_-Katie_**


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